Remembrances by Richard Dale Gano of a U.S. Navy career 1965-1989 USNA Years 1965-69 Being an avid reader of U.S. Navy history since I was in about the seventh grade, I probably had some idea of what it meant to be a part of the organization – at least I understood it could get you killed. Stories of PT-boat and destroyer warfare in World War II (especially the exploits of Commodore Arleigh Burke and his Little Beaver squadron, DESRON 23) and expeditions to the far corners of the earth captured my imagination and made me want to be a part of something bigger than myself. At one point in my ensuing twenty-four years in the U.S. Navy, I would actually be assigned to a destroyer, the “greyhounds” of the sea, in the descendent DESRON 23. Being aboard a hard-steaming destroyer must surely rank right up there with the camaraderie ands esprit de corps one got aboard a charging cavalry horse in the Old West. While cruising in every major and numerous minor oceans and seas of the world from the southern tip of South America to the seas off Petropavlosk on the Kamchatka Peninsula and through both the Suez and Panama Canals I would go on to shell enemy positions; conn destroyers racing to assigned stations at flank speed with black smoke pouring from the funnels and forced draft blowers whining like banshees to feed the boilers; shoot the biggest guns in the world at world-record accuracy; challenge Soviet ships and aircraft face to face; meet European royalty and heads of state as well as to converse with island chiefs on grass mats on palm-fringed Pacific atolls; dodge icebergs and see the Aurora Borealis; transit some of the rarest and most beautiful parts of the earth including the Chilean Waterway and the Straits of Magellan; roll from beam to beam in raging typhoons; rescue thousands of refugees in the chaos of the fall of Saigon; stand endless watches in calm and storm witnessing unforgettable sunrises and sunsets; and have the honor and awesome responsibility of command at sea. What follows is largely a dispassionate recollection of chronological facts, but rest assured, there was plenty of adrenaline flowing on many a day at sea as I shouldered responsibilities far, far in excess of anything anybody my age in civilian life ashore could possibly imagine. One of the last things I accomplished as a civilian was to complete the requirements for my private pilot’s license by flying a solo cross-country flight to Panama City from Pensacola. My flight training had come as a partial payment for a part-time job I had taken in the fall of 1964 as a flight line attendant at the general Aviation terminal (run by Piedmont General Aviation) at the Norfolk, VA airport. I was attending my senior year at Maury High School in Norfolk at the time, and the job was created by Piedmont to be filled by two deserving Civil Air Patrol Cadets, Les Carter and me. Dad had been transferred from Norfolk back to his final (twilight) Navy assignment in Pensacola at the end of the school year, and I had not had time to complete my final flying requirements; thus, I had to finish off in Pensacola just before departing for Annapolis at the end of June. A couple of interesting coincidences in my life are associated here. Commodore Mathew Fontaine Maury, my high school’s namesake (where I graduated 24 of about 600), was the first person to make a comprehensive study of the world’s ocean currents and became the first oceanographer of the Navy – a few years later, I earned a Masters of Science degree in oceanography at the Naval Postgraduate School. Also, as I completed my last required cross- country solo flight to earn my pilot’s license, I flew into Panama City, FL, where I eventually retired. Although brought up in a Navy family, I officially joined the Navy in late June 1965 as a member of the United States Naval Academy (USNA) Class of 1969. I had been put on an Eastern Airlines Electra turbo-prop airliner a day earlier by my parents in Pensacola with the unambiguous farewell of, “We’ll see you at Christmas,” because to arrive home before that would have meant I had been booted out of the Academy for some reason. I think my parents were placing a lot of hope and pride in my potential and progress to date. I was wearing a year-old light gray suit and 1 carrying my father’s soft-sided leather briefcase with a few personal items – we had been told to bring no extra clothing and $300 for our first uniforms. And indeed, I did not see my family again until Christmas because in those years, my brother Jim and younger sister Kathy were still at home, money was never plentiful for long-distance travel, and I had no authority to travel home, even if I had the leave time, which I didn’t. So contact was by letter and a very infrequent collect phone call from a cramped phone booth down in the main hallway of Bancroft Hall near the Officer of the Day’s office. Imagine today’s youth being so cut off from kith and kin! I expect cell phones and email are everywhere in Bancroft Hall today. Writing over forty years later, I do not remember how I got from whatever airport I landed at in the Washington, D.C. area (probably Baltimore Washington International) to the Naval Academy, but with all the prospective Midshipmen coming from all over the country, there was probably a Navy van or bus waiting. At the Academy, I went to an assembly point in the field house for new arrivals where I was assigned to a volunteered guest room in a private home outside the gate for my first night in Annapolis. Not having been officially sworn in, we could not spend the night on Navy property. So I trudged out the gate carrying my father’s old briefcase and found the private address nearby, right against the outer wall of the Academy. There were soon-to-be other prospective classmates in the house as well. The people who owned these homes were all long-time USNA supporters, alumni, or just plain entrepreneurs of long-standing relations with the Academy. The houses were often full of the female dates (called “drags” in Academy slang) during the academic year weekends and were thus called “drag houses.” I think it was the next day that my official induction into the U.S. Navy began in earnest as a Fourth class Midshipman (Plebe). We were taken into the massive Bancroft Hall (the largest single dormitory in the world), known ever after as “Mother B” where all 4,500-odd Midshipmen lived. We entered via Mitscher Hall at the rear of the building, oddly a place I remember entering maybe one other time in my four years at USNA. After checking in, we were formed up in small groups under the supervision of an upper classman and marched off to various locations throughout Mother B to collect a few essentials, including working uniforms and haircuts. We were quickly shown our rooms and told to get to work stenciling and stowing our clothing and getting into uniform. At some point, we were told to place our sweaty civilian clothes into our suitcases or whatever personal carrying case we had arrived with, stick our home address on them and place them in the mail. Except for two weeks during Christmas vacation, I would not wear civilian clothing for the next year. My mother later recalled her shock at getting that briefcase in the mail with the sweat-stained gray suit, which never fit again anyway. Soon we were informed that we as Plebes were never to walk in Bancroft Hall. Instead we were instructed to “chop” down the center of the halls (passageways in Navy-speak) at a “brace” or “braced up.” Chopping was performed by double timing (a jogging sort of run) while the braced position required the chin to be tucked in tightly with the forearms level and pumping with the eyes straight ahead. It was not long before the leather-soled chukka boots we wore gave me a severe case of shin splints. It became a persistent agony to put that horrible shoe ware on and pound down the hard tiled hallways. It was such a relief whenever I was allowed to wear tennis shoes. I was assigned to the 30th Platoon (to be integrated into 30th Company at the end of Plebe Summer) composed of about 36 Plebes, with a rotating cadre of two Second Class Midshipmen overseeing us all summer. I was assigned to a room on the second floor of the second wing with a view of the verdant green campus (known as the yard) and its walkways where we could spy gawking tourists. My roommate was Craig Bathgate, a breezy surfer kind of kid from California to whom everything was “bitchin’” be it good, bad or whatever. 2 In the late afternoon, we were all assembled in Tecumseh Court for our official swearing in. As I was planning, even at that point, on a career as a Naval Officer, I knew this was a momentous occasion and I am sure I was full of pride and some anxiety about my chances of completing the four-year program at USNA. Following is an excerpt from the USNA 1969 class history: The United States Naval Academy Class of 1969 took the midshipman oath of office in Tecumseh Court on 30 June 1965.